Monday, February 14, 2005
 
Crimson Tide
I have been told that women are strange and mysterious creatures, the understanding of whom has and always will defy males. There are entire blogs dedicated to this notion. Go on and check if you don't believe me. I'll wait.

There was also a whole generation of hack comedians who devoted their entire unfunny careers to obsessively cataloguing the differences between the sexes, the central gag of which is (always) the simple predictability of men vs. the crazy, crazy erratic female. If it weren't for this piece of conventional wisdom along with a few others (airplane food is bad and babies, wow, what a handful they can be), brick walls in the 1980s would have simply held up buildings, never knowing their glorious showbiz heyday as ubiquitous hack-comic backdrops in the early days of Comedy Central.

Despite the hi-larity made from the commonly-accepted supposed obviousness of the observations, I have never been particularly confounded by women. This, I'm sure, has a great deal to do with the fact that I grew up surrounded by chicks, one grown and two growing. I am convinced that the reason why I didn't date much in high school had more to do with the absolute necessity for a break from gyno-domineering than the fact that I was shy and greasy and undersized and hairless. Sure being gay would have meant subjecting myself to ridicule and discrimination in some circles, but for the most part it sounds like all blowjobs and sporting events (leave me alone, it's my distortion and I'll indulge it if I want to).

But alas my fascination with boobies and--conversely--horror at the naked male form (one day I will shower nude, my therapist tells me. When we get all the dosages right...) turned me irrevocably hetero, tragically setting me on a path to find that which I sought to escape: the company of women.

In the meantime, I cultivated knowledge. I had overheard enough half-conversations on the telephone when my sisters would use it not to be shocked by Sex and the City, for instance.

Generally (and most importantly) what I learned from living with three women 24/7 for nearly 20 years--the single most important thing that best prepared me for married co-habitation-- is this: living with a woman sucks.

No no, let me finish. That's only part A. It has nothing to do with tampons or mood swings or taking forever to get ready or anything else. It's not even because they're women. It's because they're people. That's part B. That's right. Women are people. You read it here first.

I've lived with my family, I've lived in dorms, I've had male roommates and I've lived alone, all before I was married. The only way--the one and only way--to ensure a complete 100% lack of occasional bouts of mind-crushing annoyance is to live completely alone. The single, solitary thing wrong with this world, the #1 reason people suffer stress and violence and doubt and loss, is other people. And that's just in general. Put one in the same house/apartment/bed with you night in and night out and you will at least once per month try to figure out how to make it look like an accident.

Do you have to ask what "it" is?

Don't misunderstand though, I'm not knocking occasional bouts of mind-crushing annoyance. We are conditioned to co-habitate, either socially or naturally. There are probably some evolutionary predispositions at work having to do with communal living for safety and surety of procreation. Me, I do it so I don't have to do all the laundry. And the procreation thing.

But for all my lucky, happy knowledge, for all my pragmatism when it comes to females, there is one thing I do not even begin to comprehend and absolutely never will: menstrual synchronicity.

For those who don't know, that's when the menstrual cycles of women who spend a lot of time together magically synchronize so that they're all on the same cycle. This phenomenon's existence has been scientifically categorized and proven, but the how and why of it are completely up for speculation.

The prevailing theory is that it is something to do with pheromones, but I have another theory, one that's kind of disturbing and obviates most of the rock-solid science of the rest of my post. The theory: telepathy.

That's right, telepathy. Women are telepathic. One half of the human population on earth possess the ability to communicate with one another silently via their brain-waves. It's the only thing that makes sense. Not only are women capable of transmitting their menstrual calendar information to other women in close proximity, but they have the ability to exercise complete mind-body integration into a level of control that includes even the basic autonomic procreative functions.

This of course in no way explains the reason why this level of bodily synchronization is necessary. Maybe it's some kind of coven hierarchy where the alpha female imposes her monthly cycle on lesser females as a show of pack dominance. Or maybe it's just nature's messiest party trick. Man may never know.

Knowing about and understanding the existence of this psychic power (make sure you give me credit when this story breaks like wildfire in the national news media) means there's an entire level of female thought happening below the surface, upon which we the tele-neutered males must skate, cutting pictograms in order to convey our non-psychic messages to one another.

The only comfort the telepathy theory gives, though, is that it does explain that three year period where neither my mother nor my sisters said a word in the house. It wasn't that they were ignoring me, it was that they were having lively conversations with one another in their heads, simply forgetting that I lacked the ability to participate. Yes. Yes, that has to be it.

The $64,000 question, of course, is this: can women only telepathically communicate with one another or can they actually read mens' thoughts as well? Here female readers, guess what I'm thinking right now... No, not as I write this, I mean right now wherever I am as you're enjoying this magnum opus of even-handed rational scientific thought.

Nope. Nope, you were wrong. It was boobies again. Better luck next time.



This post on the Narcissus Scale: 8.5


Pops


PS- Speaking of things being emitted from people's genitalia, actor Tom Sizemore got caught trying to use a rubber dick to pass clean urine during a doctor-observed court-mandated drug test. The kicker: the product is so commonplace, it even has a brand name: the Whizzinator. Look it up, you can buy one yourself. That's for all the Bucketeers who may like to occasionally get themselves hopped up on the goofball, but still like their jobs.

Comments:
As my Valentine's present to all your lovely female readers and HFB, I will just shut the fuck up and watch as they tear apart your menustrating telepathy theory. For once I don't want to add fuel to the fire.
 
Pops, you've found us out, you rascal you.
 
Oh yeah, the Whizzinator. Wow, the marvel of scientific innovations in action. So...is there a model for women? Since we're talkin' girl power and all. Wouldn't it be great if Courtney Love just pulled out a schlong when she goes in for her tests? That would be extra-rad.
 
I have yet to read the Tom Sizemore article (he scares the shit out of me), but did he actually have a rubber dick in his pants?

As for the menstruating theory, I found it funny and close to home. (The Crimson Tide reference creeped me out a bit, only because of my proximity to the University of Alabama)

The question of 'can women read men's thoughts' is an easy one to answer: Fuck No. If women could read men's thoughts there would be NO NEED whatsoever for things like; the telephone; the text message; the starting of rumors about girls who get their boobs the earliest in 6th grade; the note passing in Geometry class; the clique system (after all, the ones not in your clique are certainly after your guy and you're not sure he hasn't been blown by her); the late night drive by (not shooting, just driving by a guy's house); the constant, constant need for validation from your girlfriends that each and every thing you think he means, is really what he means.

See? You guy's have it better than you ever thought.
 
MPH: Oh, once again you speak out of fear born from ignorance. Broads know I'm on to something. And that's the reason I should be worried. They might not want this to get out.

Steph: I'm a perceptive rascal with far too much time to devote to thinking of these things.

Also, the Courtney Love thing was very nicely done. I think they do have a girly version, but when I tried to link the Whizzinator site, something about it totally crashed my computer. If you need it right away, I think it's like whizzinator.com or something. Good luck.

SJ: The Sizemore story is absolutely true, thank God.

And ah, so it IS about alpha female coven dominance. You chicks are so predictable. I told you the '80s hack comedians were wrong.

BTW tomorrows post will be titled "War Eagle".
 
Well, anyways, no comments on your lovely theories (which, I don't doubt, as I had already read about it .... somewhere...hmmm....) I would just like to say, Happy Valentine's Day!
 
the whole boobie or just the nipple part?
BUT now that you know, we're going to have to silence you . . . answer the door when one of us knocks, really, trust me.

Angie in Texas.
 
oh the horrors of living in a 6-girl flat and all having periods together - ick ick ick.

and arguments a go go
 
K: You coward!

Angie: I do not discriminate. The one is nothing without the other.

And why would you need to send some outside agent to get me when you have one LIVING IN MY HOUSE ALREADY?

C'lam: I'm going to pretend you didn't say that so that I might kill the mental image. La la la la la la la.
 
Congratulations, you understand women. Have a cookie.
 
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